


Enough

by gladdecease



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Community: spnrarepairs, F/M, Reunions, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gladdecease/pseuds/gladdecease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after Amelia Novak is possessed by a demon, very little in her life is "okay".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vikki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vikki/gifts).



Amelia gets home at quarter to six to find the table already set for two, bread in the toaster and two stacks of deli meat and cheese on the counter, waiting for the bread to toast.

For a moment, she imagines a different time - her, coming home late from a long day in the ER, tired and wondering why, exactly, she wanted to be a doctor; Jimmy, standing in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove and smiling at her, saying, "Hey, Doctor Novak, how does grilled cheese and tomato soup sound?" - but it's Claire standing by the stove, not Jimmy. Never Jimmy.

Claire smiles at Amelia. "Hey, mom," she says.

"Hi baby," Amelia says, plucking browned toast of the toaster. She asks about Claire's day as she layers her food - turkey swiss lettuce tomato, just how she likes it. Claire chatters about what someone did during lunch, and the newest phrase she learned in Spanish, as she takes the sandwiches, out to the table. Claire follows, water pitcher in hand.

They sit. There's a moment where Claire lifts her hands up, an expectant gesture that hasn't yet faded from months of disuse, and Amelia freezes, not knowing what to do. Catching herself, Claire drops her hands into her lap and bows her head, silently reciting Grace. Amelia looks down at her own hands and wonders, not for the first time, whether prayer will do any good.

It's been a year.

Twelve months, and she still feels the taint of that damned creature surging down her throat, taking her body for its own, using her to -

No, she decides, looking down at her shaking hands. It won't do any good. And yet...

She squeezes her eyes closed tight, just for a moment, and thinks, _please_.

Someone knocks at the door.

Amelia blinks, and looks up to find Claire grabbing the salt shaker from the middle of the table. Amelia slips a knife (stainless steel, but with a silver edge to the blade) into her pocket and goes to the door.

Standing in her doorway is a lost-looking man, exhaustion and desperation and longing for something clear in his eyes.

She steps back, disbelieving. He reaches for her, then hesitates.

"Amelia..." he says, and she has to reach back and grab the railing of the staircase to keep standing, because that. That isn't the holy creature that took her husband away. The angel - Castiel - could never sound like that, could never look at her like that. Castiel had never seen her, not really. Which meant -

"Jimmy," she says, voice breaking, hot tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.

And then she's sitting at the bottom of the stairs, staring and trying her best not to cry, while her daughter clings to her missing father like a sobbing, laughing burr, digging her hooks in and refusing to let go.

Amelia wants to do the same, but a voice in the back of her head whispers what she fears most - that she can't, that to touch him would destroy her, or taint him, ruin them both. Instead, she smiles shakily at him when he looks at her over Claire's shoulder, choking out a nervous laugh when he smiles back.

Claire is still clinging to Jimmy's waist, so Amelia takes it on herself to set out another place at the table and heat up a can of tomato soup on the stove.

* * *

Later, she goes to tuck Claire in, an instinct that hasn't faded despite Claire's recent protests of being too old for that kind of thing, and pauses at the doorway when she hears Claire talking.

"So it's really over?" she asks, and Amelia wonders for a moment what Claire is talking about, until she realizes that Claire isn't on the phone with a friend, but is talking to Jimmy, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"It's over for me," Jimmy says, and a tension in her chest releases.

"But," Claire hesitates. "But what about Castiel?"

The tone of reverence in Claire's voice, despite all that Castiel has done to their family, makes anger twist painfully in Amelia's stomach.

"I don't know," Jimmy says at last. "He did something stupid - and I mean really, _really_ stupid - and then he was gone. I was alone again, and there was this - this guy, kind of short, with a beard and - " Jimmy falters. "I think he might have been God."

Amelia's breath catches in her throat.

"God?" Claire asks, voice hushed.

"I - yeah," Jimmy says, chuckling. "It sounds crazy, but I think he must have been. He asked me what I wanted, if I wanted to go to Heaven, or come back here - "

"And you picked here?"

Amelia doesn't realize she's asked the question until Jimmy turns to look at her, surprised.

"Of course I did," he says, like the choice is obvious. Like he couldn't have - like he didn't - "Heaven is idyllic, but I've seen what it's like. It's just memories. Your best memories, but nothing new. I'd rather make new memories, good and bad, with you, than relive the best moment of my life a hundred thousand times."

Amelia hears an awful, strangled sound, and realizes a moment later that it came from her. Backing up slowly, she finds she can't take her eyes off Jimmy, the wonderful, _insane_ man that picked Claire and her, and everything that's wrong with her, over eternal peace and happiness. She never wants to look away from him, but she can't stay here. Can't let him look back, or he'll see the mistake he made, how broken she is, how -

"Mom?" Claire asks, and it snaps Amelia out of her thoughts, and she leaves, calling out a shaky goodnight over her shoulder. Jimmy calls after her, but Claire says something quietly, and he doesn't follow.

* * *

Amelia's in the middle of getting ready for bed herself when someone knocks at her door. She straightens the sleeves of her nightgown, looks at herself in the mirror - she looks far more tired than she should be, even for this hour - and then opens the door.

"Hi," Jimmy says.

Amelia doesn't know what to say.

"Hi," she manages.

He looks past her. "Can I - do you still have my clothes?" he asks. Gesturing to his worn old suit, he says, "I mean, while I _could_ sleep in this, if you still have my stuff, I'd rather wear those."

"Right," Amelia says, nodding. "Of course." She opens the door wider, lets Jimmy step inside. "They're in the dresser, where you left them." He nods, walking to the far side of the room, and something compels Amelia to add, "I haven't really touched them since you left, so they might be a little musty."

"That's fine," Jimmy says, picking out a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. "After two years in this suit, a little musty is more than fine." He shucks off his suit jacket and starts to unbutton his dress shirt, then pauses and turns to Amelia. "Do you want me to - "

"Stay." He looks surprised, but grateful. Probably not as surprised as Amelia herself, who doesn't know where the nerve to say that came from. On one hand, _yes_ , she wants him to stay, but she doesn't want him near her. Too close, and she might... she might...

She doesn't know what she might do.

Still, now that she's said it she can't take it back, so she sits on the end of her bed and watches her husband undress.

Everything about him is the same, from the lightest trail of chest hair to the mole by his nipple, to the patch of freckles on his shoulders. It takes her a moment to realize what feels so wrong about that, but by then he's completely unbuttoned his shirt and she's staring at his smooth, pale stomach, and she knows.

That choked sound escapes her again, and Jimmy looks up at her.

"Amelia?"

"It's - it's nothing," she says, but her voice is shaking too much for that. He stops undressing and sits down next to her, leaning towards her, taking her hand in his, every movement slow and intentional.

"What is it?"

"Really, it's nothing," she insists, trying to pull her hand away, but he gives her a look and laces their fingers together, squeezing gently. "It's just - there's no scar." She reaches out, brushes a finger over the spot. "Here. Where I shot you."

Jimmy frowns. "You didn't shoot me."

Amelia shakes her head. "I did. It was my hand holding the gun, my finger that pulled the trigger - " Her voice breaks, slightly, on the word trigger.

"And a demon in your head making you do it," Jimmy says sharply. "It's not your fault."

She hasn't stopped shaking her head. "It is, it is," she says. "I didn't believe you, I couldn't keep it out, couldn't stop it, I wasn't good enough to - " Her hands are trembling again.

" _Amelia_." Jimmy grabs both her hands now, holds them steady, makes her look at him. "Amelia," he repeats, softer, sadder. "Nobody could have stopped it. Not me, not you, _nobody_. It's not your fault."

"Jimmy," she whispers, but he's let go of her hands to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight to him.

"It's okay," he says, insistent and quiet in her ear, and she can't do anything but rest her head on his shoulder and let him whisper soothing sounds, rub his hand gently up and down her back.

It's not okay. Not yet, and maybe it never will be, but it feels a little better than before.

And that's enough for now.


End file.
